by Dianna Love
Which way? Her heartbeats spiked the longer she stood paralyzed in indecision.
What had she learned in survival training?
Indecision got you killed. Instincts took over.
She ran in short bursts, casting hasty looks over her shoulder, and paused behind a stack of tires at the rear of an abandoned gas station. Her heart raced, every breath coming in painful bursts.
She fought to keep the panic at bay, but couldn’t ignore the truth.
Mason would eventually kill her.
She didn’t want it to be today.
Her options were disintegrating into thin air. She had no clue where she was or how to find transportation out of this city. Her hands shook as she swiped perspiration away from her eyes. The hat had flown off, somewhere. She could feel her hair hanging loose on one side.
It didn’t matter.
The gunman had recognized her, hat or no hat.
Hands shaking, she picked her way around the garbage-strewn rear of the gas station and peered down a wall shrouded in thick green ivy vines. Next door, clumps of thorny sandspur plants covered the vacant lot, offering no protection.
The derelict station offered the only possible hideout she could find. There were several doorway openings not completely overtaken by vines on the whitewashed concrete block structure. With trembling fingers, she felt her way along the wall as she eased toward the street, sticking tight as a shadow to the building.
Yellow shoes and a bright yellow shirt – some shadow.
As she passed the first two openings, dilapidated exterior bathrooms, she gave each an obligatory glance then held her breath against the stench and moved on.
She considered ducking into the next open doorway to what at one time must have been the waiting area of the service station. Tall half broken glass windows stretched from the other side of the doorway to wrap around the front.
Damn. She couldn’t hide there. Had to keep moving.
She headed toward the street. Just as she cleared the doorway of the station, a massive hand covered her mouth and a powerful arm encircled her chest, jerking her inside.
He had her.
Chapter 19
“Shhh. It’s me, Zane.”
Angel slumped, her back against his chest and her relief so vivid it was a living thing. When he moved the hand that covered her mouth, she muttered, “I don’t deserve your help, but I’m glad to have it.”
With her no longer resisting, he switched his hold from one of capture and restraint to support and comfort. He cupped the side of her face, lowering a finger to stroke along her neck.
Her heart hammered under his arm. Her breathing rushed out in gasps.
She’d had the hell scared out of her.
He’d had the hell scared out of him, too.
Following her had been challenge enough. His heart had lurched up into his throat when the bullet barely missed her. It had taken everything he could muster to try to catch her when she’d torn away at one hell of a quick pace.
Why hadn’t the shooter gone for her body? The shot hit too far in front of her to have been aimed for the bulk of the target.
Had the shooter meant to kill or only wound?
Or run her into an ambush?
Who in the hell was after her? The bullet could have just as easily hit her head as the ground next to her shoe.
Her body quaked against his chest. Trying to calm her, he rubbed her arm, still glistening with moisture from her exertion. He couldn’t resist brushing his lips over her hair, so damned glad he’d found her and caught her before she ran back out into danger.
Zane expelled a breath of pent up anxiety.
An eternity had passed after seeing her head toward the gas station. He’d stood in the doorway worried he’d guessed wrong and she was gone, permanently. His usual calm control had almost deserted him. He’d been seconds from bolting out of the building to search for her when she walked up.
Zane folded her closer, enjoying the feel of her body next to his. She was safe and alive, for the moment.
Just as soon as he got her somewhere safe, she’d get an earful from him. Expecting patience at this point was too much. She’d tell him who was chasing her and why. No more cat and mouse games.
The thought of anyone harming Angel brought out a deadly side of him unlike anything since his time in the second Gulf War. He’d left his share of casualties over the years, but he’d never intentionally hurt anyone who hadn’t deserved it. The next person to put a mark on Angel would land on top of his physical retribution list.
First he had to get her out of here – alive. “Are you okay, Angel?”
She drew a deep breath and pushed against his hold.
When he loosened his grip, she turned around.
Don’t yell at her. But dammit, he needed to yell at someone. Fear for her life had him ready to unleash his frustration.
Then she raised an ashen face and tear-rimmed eyes to him. Her body shook from head to toe. One side of her hair drooped to her shoulders, while the other remained in a badly twisted knot. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck from the effort she’d expended to escape capture.
Her eyes searched his. She obviously waited for judgment, a naked plea for understanding written across her face.
His heart twisted. He’d always believed the world was made up of good guys and bad guys and knowing who wore the white or black hats had been a simple process. Until Angel.
Every logical neuron in his being placed her on the wrong side of the law. His heart begged to differ and defend her honor.
Therein lay the problem. His heart had a lousy track record.
Her bottom lip quivered.
To hell with the debate raging between his brain and his heart. Zane pulled her to his chest, wrapping her in his arms. Her sleek body fit perfectly next to his.
An old man, leaning on a cane, strolled past the front of their hideout, tapping the ground as he went.
Zane shifted her deeper into the shadows. He scanned the surroundings beyond the dingy glass windows for any sign of threat. When nothing ominous moved along the silent street he returned his attention to Angel.
She tilted her head back, looking as though she was going to speak, but chewed on her bottom lip instead. Firm breasts slowly rubbed against his chest as her breathing eased. The slight movement sent wild cravings through him.
He swallowed.
The pink tip of her tongue appeared and left a wet trail across her cinnamon lips. Time slowed as he stared into the depths of eyes the color of fine bourbon.
At that moment, nothing could have stopped him from what he wanted to do. Had to do.
He gently kissed her, tasting the salty sweetness of her lips. He’d meant it to be gentle, full of comfort, but her response kicked him in the chest. She’d hesitated at first then moved into his arms, molding to him. Her hands pushed up his back to hook around each shoulder, anchoring him tighter.
Hunger and need balled into a flash fire of heat.
She kissed him back, bold and urgent. His tongue slid in to caress her mouth along the smooth inside. Her delicate tongue tormented his. Muscles along his shoulders rippled with each grip of her fingers.
He slipped his hands under the back of her damp shirt to caress every creamy inch of smooth skin then press her closer to him. She clutched his neck as if afraid he’d break the contact.
Not a chance.
He tore his mouth from hers to explore the smooth skin along her neck, tasting the salty dampness from her run. She purred against his chest, flexing up for more like a kitten in need of cuddles.
Slipping one hand under the front strap of her tight running top, he grazed her nipple with his thumb.
She gasped and arched forward against him. Heat seared him from his chest down through his groin.
His arousal pulsed through his nylon shorts, leaving no doubt that he wanted her.
He did. To the point he hurt with the need to do so much more than kiss her. To
see her amber eyes flash wildly when he brought her to climax. When she pushed her hips up against him, he grazed her nipple once more and heard her suck in her breath. As if drawn to the very core of her heat, his fingers slipped away from her breast to trail down her abdomen.
She moaned in protest at the change.
Until he lifted the edge of her shorts to where panties had been built into the design. He scraped his finger against the thin barrier of material shielding her heat.
“Zane ... uh...” She started panting.
He hadn’t thought he could get any harder, but he did the minute she rubbed against his hand.
A car horn blew outside, startling him.
He might as well have had cold water thrown on him. Zane froze with his hands in every inappropriate place he could possibly have them and gritted his teeth. Damn it all. What the hell was wrong with him? Some maniac stalked her and he’d dropped his guard.
Another minute and he’d have ripped those shorts off her and dropped his pants.
He had a disgusting lack of self-control around this woman.
Withdrawing both roaming hands, he held Angel by the shoulders when she swayed. Passion glazed her eyes. He wanted to kiss her soft lips all over again.
She blinked, then seemed to come back to this world in the next instant and pushed away. Confusion and surprise flashed in her eyes. He could handle that, but the embarrassment he saw before she lowered her lashes cut him deep. He’d done that.
When her lips parted to speak, he shook his head.
Her delicate brows knitted together in irritation. She opened her mouth again, determined to have her say.
He put two fingers on her lips and let his gaze roam past her until she understood they had to be quiet.
Based on activity outside the abandoned gas station and the amount of daylight, he guessed the time to be nearing seven in the morning. A young boy rode past on a tangerine bicycle oblivious to any danger lurking nearby.
Zane leaned close to Angel’s ear. “We’re moving out. Stay close to me.”
“No.”
Wrong answer.
He whispered, “The last time you said that I had a gun shoved in my face. Do as I say. We’ll discuss this later.”
He pinned her tight against his chest in an unspoken order to cooperate. The scowl he gave her didn’t seem to deter her at all.
She yanked hard on the back of his shirt then pushed up on her toes. He lowered his ear close to her mouth, fully expecting the berating he deserved for behaving like a hormonal teen.
“Let me go ahead,” she whispered. “I had an ... incident on the beach. Someone is following me. It’s risky for you to be with me. I’ll meet you somewhere.”
Zane couldn’t believe his ears. Unarmed, wearing clothes bright enough to be a bull’s target, she was trying to shield him. His words were terse to cut through any more argument. “Incident, my ass. Someone shot at you.”
She stared with shock and murmured, “You saw that?”
He nodded. Leaning close again, he said, “I know all the back ways out of here. If someone’s following you, they won’t see us. Trust me.”
Her face displayed a myriad of emotions, then something he wanted to call trust entered her eyes. What had she been through to be so cautious about trusting a man who’d come to her aid twice and expected nothing in return?
Liar. He’d been seriously close to undressing her three minutes ago. But that hadn’t been due to expecting anything in return. Just the raw need to have her.
Zane rubbed her back lightly and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. He took her hand, leading her outside before she could resist his help.
She never stumbled as he scuttled them through a maze of narrow passageways, taking several detours in and out of vacant buildings. Though he’d followed her for miles, she’d circled so much they weren’t far from his apartment. In less than an hour, they trotted into the parking lot at his apartment.
In his rush to leave, Zane had left the apartment unlocked. Any other time he wouldn’t be concerned, but that was before someone had taken a shot at Angel.
He punched the code to open his truck door, then pulled his .40-caliber Sig from the leather holster tucked in the console. He hesitated in indecision over what to do with Angel for several seconds. The last thing he wanted to do was expose her to a hidden danger within, but he’d learned better than to let her out of his sight.
Pushing the door open slowly, he glanced inside, first to the right, then around the corner at his unmade foldout bed. Frigid air welcomed him. When Zane stepped inside, Angel tried to move next to him, but he swung her close to his back and kept a tight grip on her wrist, careful not to bruise her. Room-by-room, he cleared his house, something he hadn’t had to do since he was shot down and searching for shelter in enemy territory. Ten minutes later he was convinced no one waited inside for them.
In the living room, he rounded on Angel. Arms crossed, feet apart, he was ready for answers. “Okay, enough of these charades. What’s going on?”
“I told you.”
“You said you had an arrangement that went sour,” he pressed. “This doesn’t look like a pissed off boyfriend. Who is this guy and what does he want?”
Angel wrapped her arms around her chest and moved away from him to stand in front of the terrace doors. “I can’t tell you.” She sounded as disappointed as he felt.
“Then explain why you can’t.”
She spun around to answer, hair swatting her face. “Don’t you understand? He is dangerous. Worse than that. I have to go. If he finds me with you he’ll – ”
“He’ll what?” Zane interrupted.
“He’ll hurt us both. He’ll kill me, and anyone who helps me is in just as much danger. I couldn’t live with it if something happened to you because of me.”
No one was going to kill her.
Her distress was sincere. This hunted woman put his safety ahead of her own.
It happened again. The lines between black and white blurred a little more.
He’d always been the toughest kid in his class, never bested by an adversary from football to martial arts. He’d been his sister’s protector, his squadron’s leader and the first to race toward the enemy.
No one had ever stood between him and a threat.
He’d learned to defend himself at a young age both physically and emotionally with no one to rise to his defense. The depth of Angel’s concern pushed him into turbulent emotional territory, with no navigational charts.
In the same breath she had refused to answer his questions, aggravating him beyond reason, then confused him with her selfless consideration for his safety.
His world to this point had been simple.
Everyone was primarily either good or bad. Guilty or innocent. Black or white with not a whole lot of gray.
How was he going to figure out where Angel fit in that world?
Not knowing was giving him hell.
He had resources to call on who could help her, but he had to know she wasn’t in some kind of serious trouble with the law.
Somehow, he doubted that would change her mind. “I need you to trust me.”
She didn’t hurry to answer, a sign that she gave consideration to what she intended to say. “The funny thing is that I do trust you, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to put you in the middle of something you aren’t responsible for. The less you know, the better. I made a bad choice. Now I need to fix my mistake and I can’t guarantee this isn’t going to turn out badly.”
Zane sighed. Convincing her to go to the police might be his best recourse after all. The longer he delayed, the higher her risk was of injury or capture by the wrong people. “Since this guy is so dangerous, why don’t you go to the police?”
Her face turned guarded. “No. He, uh, has contacts everywhere. I can’t risk talking to the police.”
“Even if I vouched for someone in law enforcement? There are laws to protect women from men who stalk
and brutalize them, regardless of the circumstances. Especially when the guy tries to shoot you.”
She shook her head. “It’s more complicated than being stalked.”
There it was again. That bad feeling that she hid something not quite kosher. By the end of the day, he would have a fingerprint if he had to tie her down.
She squinted her eyes at him then. “Why do you carry a gun in your truck, Zane?”
“I have a permit to carry concealed. Not everybody you meet in the cargo business is nice.” Especially when the DEA asked him to take contracts with less than savory characters at times. A frown furrowed her brow. Please don’t press that point. Zane’s cell phone rang in the distance. Saved by the jingle. “Don’t move.” He retrieved the phone. His pulse jumped when he recognized the High Vision dispatch number.
This was the call he’d been waiting on.
What was he going to do with Angel if he had to fly out?
Zane stood where he could watch her from the doorway while he answered out of her hearing.
“Black here,” Zane said.
Samuel Ritter’s familiar voice started issuing instructions, as usual. “You’ve got a pickup at Bentley Field near St. Simons Island in south Georgia for High Vision this afternoon. Has to arrive in Ft. Lauderdale in time for a transfer to Miami by 1900. A High Vision representative will meet you at Sunshine Airfield when you return.”
That wasn’t the location or shipment Zane expected. “I didn’t think your company had a branch there.” Plus Zane had never brought any of their cargo shipments back to Sunshine Field.
“We don’t. The chief financial officer has a home on St. Simon’s Island,” Sammy clarified. “This shipment is specifically for him.”
Damn. Flying something for the CFO was a positive sign. And a test, he’d bet. He didn’t care as long as they gave him the cargo contract. Zane checked the clock on the microwave. Making the run was no problem, but he couldn’t leave Angel alone.
“I can be there by one o’clock. What can you tell me about the load?”
“All I’ve been told is it’s a high-priority shipment from the CFO’s wife, something personal. They’ll let you inspect the package before loading. Supposedly it’s approximately three-by-three and they don’t want the contents discussed for security reasons. Based on the insurance value noted, I’d handle it with kid gloves.”
